by Jana Oliver
“Yeah. I put some stuff in his oatmeal. It didn’t hurt him.”
They skirted around a broad patch of heather as their breath clouded the night air.
Riley snorted. “I guess throwing up for a few hours is no big deal in your world.”
Brennan’s hand tightened on her arm, digging into her flesh. “He’s okay now. It’s not like I wanted to hurt him. He’s been decent to me.”
“Then why do all this?”
“I want to be a grand master,” he replied, his eyes flashing at her. “Fayne will summon a Fallen and then I’ll kill it. They’ll have to let me become one of them.”
Riley came to abrupt halt, forcing Brennan to stop. “Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how evil those things are?”
“You’re just like MacTavish,” he snapped, frowning again. “He only wants his favorites to become a grand master.”
“What? It doesn’t ... work that way. It’s not like some popularity contest,” she said, her teeth chattering harder now. He tugged her along and they resumed the climb. “Look, we can go back to the house, explain what happened to you and—”
“Just keep walking,” he said.
She wasn’t getting through to him.
“So why do the summoning in the graveyard? What did that buy you guys?”
“Fayne wanted to test the elements of the spell, make sure they were right before she tried to summon a Fallen. Robbie was all over that, eager to impress her, I guess.”
“Yeah, that really worked for him.”
When she crested the hill, out of breath and body quaking, Riley forced herself to look over her shoulder. To her relief, the manor house had more lights on now. Did they realize she was gone? Or was it nothing more than the others getting ready for bed?
Beck will find me. He’ll know something’s wrong.
But maybe she could give him a bit of help. If she could get back to the manor...
Riley swung around and kicked at Brennan’s closest knee, dropping him to the ground with a cry. Rather than try to wrestle the knife from him, she took off down the hill, veering around stones. She’d covered only a short distance when a voice boomed in her head, clamping onto her will with steel claws.
“Come to me!” the voice ordered, causing her to skid to a stop. Though she tried to fight the spell, Riley turned like a puppet and continued on, past Brennan, to the crown of the hill.
Her captor swore as he caught up with her, but made no attempt to restrain her. He didn’t need to — his “boss” was pulling her strings.
They walked along the crown of the ridge, the loch to their left, until a bonfire became visible along a flat stretch of ground dotted with heather and stones. Summoner Fayne stood by the fire, her dark brown robe nearly making her invisible in the darkness.
“Come closer,” the summoner said, beckoning.
Riley’s mind told to submit, that it was useless to resist such power. Her heart told her if she did, she was dead.
Brennan limped closer now, looking anxiously back and forth between Riley and the necromancer. “This damn well better work,” he muttered, shaking his head in dismay.
“All will go smoothly,” Fayne replied.
“It didn’t go smoothly for Robbie and the others,” Riley cut in. “They’re dead.”
“Their blood is on your hands, not mine,” the summoner retorted. “If you had not fought back, the demon would have been happy just to kill you, not them.”
“No, that’s not how it was,” Riley said, her memories conjuring up the horrific images of the dead summoners. Of Bess weeping in terror. “You knew Robbie couldn’t hold that Archfiend. He didn’t have enough power.”
Fayne ignored that. “Sit there,” the woman ordered, pointing toward a bare patch of ground. Riley moved to the spot she’d indicated, forced to comply so her head wouldn’t explode from the pressure. The instant her butt hit the hard ground she went into another long shivering session. It was so cold, she could barely feel the tips of her fingers.
Beck, where are you?
Fayne was closer now, the magic rolling off her in waves. She placed a ceremonial knife and a piece of paper on the ground within Riley’s reach.
Riley glared up at her. “MacTavish and Beck will figure out I’m missing and come looking for me.”
“Let them,” the necromancer replied, her eyes alight. “They pose no threat. A few dead grand masters won’t trouble me at all.”
“Hey!” Brennan said, limping closer now. “That’s not our deal. You are to summon the Fallen so I can kill it. You can’t hurt the masters or I’m screwed.”
The summoner laughed. “If they get in my way, they will be harmed. If you thought otherwise, you’re an idiot. “
“No! I won’t let you hurt them.”
“Then they’d best not challenge me.”
“The necro is hosing you over,” Riley said. “The only way she’ll summon a Fallen is to kill me. How else will she get one of Lucifer’s own this close to the grand master’s stronghold?”
“No, you’ll be fine,” Brennan insisted, but he sounded unsure now. “We agreed that she would wipe your memory once it was over. I’ll tell the masters I found you out here wandering around all confused. That I rescued you from the Fallen. I’ll be the hero.”
You are so naive.
With a bark of laughter, Fayne tossed a sword at his feet. As Brennan picked it up, his eyes met Riley’s. “It’ll be okay,” he said, shooting a quick glance toward the necromancer as she returned to the fire. He lowered his voice. “I’ll keep you safe, no matter what.”
Riiight.
Fayne invoked her magical circle and it snapped into place with a burst of dark grey light, destined to protect her from one of Hell’s most dangerous servants. Unlike Robbie’s, this circle thrummed with power. Fayne may not be at Mort’s level of magical expertise, but she had enough expertise to do a lot of damage.
After a sharp intake of breath, as if realizing there was no going back, Brennan called out. “I’m ready.”
Riley tried to rise, but the effort proved futile. The buzzing her mind was at hornet nest level now, making it hard to think. She had to buy time.
“If you summon a Fallen and it’s going to kill him,” she said, angling her head toward the grand master wannabe, “and take you as its own.”
Fayne sniffed in derision. “No Fallen will ever command me. It will be my servant.”
“Why? What does this buy you?”
“Respect. None of the others think I am capable of such a thing, but after tonight they will know I am the most powerful summoner in all the world.”
Now that’s a planet-sized ego. Which was all Hell needed to work their own special brand of chaos.
Knowing she was wasting her time trying to talk sense into Fayne or Brennan, Riley shifted her attention to escape. When she tried to rise again, nothing happened other than making sweat stand out on her forehead and her head pound in time with her heart.
There’s got to be a way to break free.
Fayne raised her head, almost like she was scenting the wind, and smiled. “The masters have realized you’re missing and are hurrying to join us. What a merry party we will have.”
That was good news. Or was it?
Or maybe that had been Fayne’s plan all along — to lure Beck and the others out of the safety of their house and end their lives at the hands of a Fallen.
Is she that smart? Or has Hell been playing her all along?
Unaware of Riley’s inner dialog, Fayne began to chant, grayish-blue light swirling around her hands. Riley knew this spell — two months earlier she’d been with Mort on a summoning and this was similar. The deceased had been a young girl, just fourteen, and Mort had felt Riley’s presence might be a comfort when the deceased rose from her grave. The experience had left Riley heartbroken, vowing never to be involved in that kind of thing again, even though it had been to let the dead girl know they’d caught her killer.
And he
re I am again...
As she picked through the Latin, recognizing certain phrases. she realized that Fayne’s summoning wasn’t specific to one person. It was a general cattle call: If you were buried nearby, come join the party.
What are you doing?
The earth to Riley’s right began to groan as if in labor and it soon split apart. A ghostly figure rose from the soil, his tartan in rags. His chiseled face was dirty and smeared with what had to be dried blood and he was armed with a sword in one hand and a dirk in the other.
Riley stared in astonishment. From the style of clothes, this warrior had to have been buried in the mid-seventeen hundreds. Next to him another body rose, then a third. Apparently this had been a battlefield at one time.
A total of nine spectral clansmen heeded the magical call, all armed and ready for war.
“You have no right to do this to them,” Riley said, wiggling around in an attempt to get free of the magic that held her in check. “Put them back in their graves!”
“She’s right, Fayne. Why are you doing this? The dead shouldn’t be disturbed,” Brennan insisted.
“They don’t care,” Fayne replied. “They’re only tools, like the two of you.”
The summoner was wrong — when the first ghost’s eyes met Riley’s, the sadness within them nearly made her weep.
Chapter Eleven
Where the hell are they?
Beck shivered involuntarily in the cold night air as he and MacTavish stood outside the manor house. Frantic with worry, he hadn’t bothered to grab a coat, and now the wind was playing havoc with the kilt and his thin dress jacket.
“All the cars are still here,” Kepler said as he joined them.
Which meant Brennan had taken Riley somewhere on the grounds.
“Up on the hill?” MacTavish asked.
“That would make sense,” the other grand master replied.
MacTavish’s phone rang. “What’d ya find?” He listened for moment, then ended the call. “I had our housekeeper go up ta the fourth floor and look toward the loch. She says there’s a bonfire up there. That’s where Fayne will be, and so will the other two.”
“How can ya be sure?” Beck said, his gut twisted so hard it was painful to breathe.
“Because it’s an old battlefield. Fayne’ll be pullin’ the dead free from their graves ta keep us busy while she does her spell.” At Beck’s puzzled expression, he added, “It’s what I’d do if I was a spell slinger.”
Kepler nodded his agreement. “I’ll stay here and keep the manor safe. And I’ll put a call into the police. One way or another, they’re going to have to be involved.”
MacTavish sighed and shook his head in regret. “Aye. Thanks, old friend. Hopefully we can share a wee dram once this hell is over.”
Grimly, they set off up the hill, leaving Kepler behind. Beck carried the sword he used in practice sessions, much like the claymore Master Stewart favored though this one wasn’t quite as heavy. MacTavish had opted for a similar weapon, but neither of these blades would be of value if the summoner was inside a protective circle.
“Now if she’s summoned the dead, the best we can do is keep from gettin’ dead ourselves,” MacTavish explained. “At least until we break the spell.”
“Which means we need to take down the necro,” Beck said, pushing forward on a punishing pace.
“Aye,” his superior replied. “In case yer wonderin’, however that comes ta pass will work for me. Ya ken?”
“Understood. What the hell was Brennan thinkin’?” he demanded.
MacTavish shook his head as they skirted around an outcropping. “I’m not sure. For him ta betray us like that ... in another month or so he’d be workin’ directly with Grand Master Alvarez in Mexico. It’s an important position and it’s taken him nearly a year ta reach that goal.”
“Could the necro have put a spell on him?”
“Kepler said he didn’t sense one, but Brennan has been a bit odd as of late and I’ve had ta come down hard on him. I thought it was stress with his final exams comin’ up, but now we know different.”
Beck thought back through some of the conversations he’d had with Brennan. “Ya know, he said somethin’ about envyin’ me because I was gonna be a grand master. Didn’t make any sense at the time, not after what it took to get here.”
MacTavish frowned in through. “Maybe that’s it — he’s jealous of what we are.”
“Yeah,” Beck murmured. If he only knew what bein’ a grand master really means.
As they hiked up the hill, the wind whistling around Beck’s knees and the bushes snagging on his kilt, he cursed himself for leaving Riley so vulnerable. He’d promised to keep her safe and failed ... again.
“We’ll get her back,” his superior insisted.
Beck knew when someone was telling you stuff that they didn’t necessarily believe.
“Riley will fight her,” he said. “She won’t give up.”
“She’ll have ta, because if she gives in she’s dead,” MacTavish replied. “I’m guessin’ that Fayne’s people did a test run at the graveyard with that demon. This time she’ll go for the real prize.”
“A Fallen angel,” Beck said, his heart sinking. He’d prayed he’d never have to fight one of things again, but it just might come to that. Anything to keep Riley from bein’ hurt. If he failed, and died, would he go to Hell again? Somehow he doubted his mother would show him the way out a second time.
“If she does summon a Fallen, what about the manor? The Archives?” Beck asked. The centuries of knowledge the grand masters had accumulated, often at the cost of their lives.
“Kepler will ensure the wards will hold.”
Beck sighed in relief.
Unfortunately those wards weren’t going to do a damned thing for either of them.
~ - ~ - ~
Though her panic continued to discover new thresholds with each passing minute, Riley forced herself to think through the situation. From what she could tell there didn’t appear to be too much to work with, at least something that allowed her to walk away from this alive. Allowed her to see Beck again and tell him she loved him, that she trusted him and really wished he’d ask that question one more time.
Riley turned her attention to the words written on the piece of paper in front of her, in a hope that they might be of assistance. When she reached out to pick up the paper, sharp magic nipped at her fingers like a hungry bird, forcing her hand back. Leaning closer, she tried to read the script, but they blurred. Another one of Fayne’s tricks.
Riley guessed that once her blood touched that paper, the spell would direct dial one of Lucifier’s top menaces. If Fayne could bind it to her will, there was no way the necromancer was going to allow Brennan to kill it. If she didn’t, Fayne was inside a protective circle. No harm, no foul, at least from the summoner’s point of view.
As Riley’s despair deepened, a familiar warmth brushed her mind, her father’s spirit, who was never that far away, even on good days. She recalled his mussed brown hair, how he always had a kiss and a hug for her. How much he had loved her mother.
You’re stronger than you know, Paul Blackthorne whispered in that firm, yet loving tone he used to ensure she was listening.
How do I stop her?
Be yourself. Be stronger than she is.
The utter suckage of the situation made Riley anger burn. Who the hell was this woman anyway? If I could just get free... She wiggled again, like a toddler stuck in a highchair, and just as helpless. Around her, the dead warriors fanned out.
“Riley!” Beck called out as he and MacTavish came out of the darkness. Just as he began hurrying toward her, the grand master made a futile grab at his arm.
“Careful, lad,” MacTavish called out.
His warning came quick enough for Beck to evade one of the ghosts, who had surged forward, swinging its sword. The instant he backed off, the specter ceased its attack.
“If you remain in place, they won’t hurt you,�
�� Fayne said, magic encircling her like a swarm of bees.
Beck ignored her. “Damn you, Brennan! What the hell are ya doin’?”
“Don’t worry, she’ll be safe,” Brennan said, but Riley could see sweat glistening on his face now.
“That’s a load and ya know it,” MacTavish replied, his voice dripping with acid. “Why have ya done this, lad? Why have ya betrayed one of our own?”
“To prove I’m as good as any of you,” the young man retorted. “Fayne will summon a Fallen and when I’ll kill it, then I’ll be one of you. You’ll have to let me in, that’s the rules.”
“She’s been feedin’ ya this nonsense, hasn’t she?” MacTavish said, angling his head toward the necromancer.
“Of course I have,” Fayne said, without a hint of remorse. “He wants to be a grand master, I want to summon a Fallen. That’s synergy.”
“It’ll work, you’ll see,” Brennan said.
“No, it won’t. And God help ya, yer about to learn a very hard lesson, ya damned fool.”
Before Brennan could reply, the compulsion spell hit Riley like an arrow embedding itself deep in her forehead. On their own volition, her fingers reached out to grasp the knife, slowly turning the silver blade toward her. She tried to let go of the weapon, turn it away, but Fayne’s spell was too strong.
No, not like this.
“Riley, what are ya doin?” Beck called.
“It’s not me. It’s her. She’s making me do it.”
“Ah, hell!”
He hacked at one of the ghosts, cutting it in half, but it promptly reassembled, preventing him from reaching her.
“Fayne?” MacTavish growled. “There’ll be no goin’ back if the girl dies. Ya ken?”
The necromancer laughed, cold and sharp. “She is of no importance. If I command a Fallen, you can do nothing.”
Realization dawned in Brennan’s eyes. He whirled toward the necromancer. “You told me she wouldn’t be hurt!”
Fayne shrugged. “I might have lied about that.”
“You bitch! I don’t want this if she’s going to be hurt.”
“You have no choice now.”
Brennan swore and strode closer, ready to do battle, but found himself pushed away by a pair of the ghosts.